


Don't Beam Me Up Scotty

by Moirai



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Humor, M/M, Multi, out of context situations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 00:52:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6217078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moirai/pseuds/Moirai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There have been many times James T. Kirk has been beamed onto the Bridge in awkward and compromising positions and situations. These are a few.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Incident: Admirals and Body Paint

**Author's Note:**

> I have had this written for a while now but haven't posted it. I figure that I put too much work into it not to share it so I have resurrected the first two chapters and am working on future ones. 
> 
> Thanks to the always wonderful Heartofthemirror for beta'ing the first chapter and helping me hammer out details and future ideas for the story.

     Look, it wasn’t that James T. Kirk hated his life and thought about launching himself out of a torpedo silo every other Sunday. Most of the time he really truly loved his job. It was a privileged and rare honor to be Starfleet Captain, in command of his own vessel at such a young age. But James T. Kirk will personally punch anyone in the mouth who ever says that there is no downside to being in a position of responsibility and diplomatic sensitivity. 

     Jim knew what he was doing when he signed onto a five year outer-galactic exploratory mission. He knew he would have to hide his reckless and spontaneous streak. He would reserve his shirtless dancing for the moments when he was alone in his room, turning on the white noise filter, popping in some headphones and applying a lockdown on his quarters so that no one could enter without notifying him first. He sat in his quarters and daydreamed about racing down the dirt roads of Iowa with reckless abandon, pushing the speed limit, the wind blowing his hair back and forth, making his eyes water and his hands on the steering wheel shake. He hid it all under layers of professionalism. He took commands from the Admirals, he gave commands without hesitation and he never let anyone see the true adrenaline junkie that he was before Starfleet. He gave them what they wanted to see. 

     But sometimes, when shore-leave came along, he bailed out, away from the crew and his rag-tag bunch of friends, and he went off to fulfill his own self-indulgent pleasures. He stashed his communicator away. He left with his uniform in regulation shape, stashed behind closed hotel closet doors. When he walked into the club, signifying the true beginning of his shore leave, he had changed in more ways than one. Gone was the regal yellow of captaincy. In it’s place was miles of recklessly exposed skin.

     No matter what certain southern Doctors and stuffy science officers said, Jim knew how to be patient but honestly, it had been  _ months  _ and he was only human (unlike said stuffy science officers). Jim had his limits, and he’d practically reached the outer orbit of them by the time this shore leave had come along. The Enterprise has been on small missions from the Federation for the past two months, collecting and dropping off data and chauffeuring officials around the universe to and from delegation meetings. It was too much grunt work for Kirk and he was pulling his hair out, strand by frustrating strand in boredom. Despite sparring multiple times a day and burning off his excess adrenaline in combat training, Kirk was getting increasingly restless. Luckily, the Enterprise was on down-time between missions and the Federation had granted the crew five days of shore leave on a vacation planet, Bokoriki IV.

     Unfortunately, Federation had mandated that at least one shift stayed aboard the bridge in-case any “unforeseen problems” arose while the rest of the crew over-indulged on leave. In addition, every Enterprise crew member was mandated to keep some sort of communicator on them at all times, in the “incredibly rare” case that they needed to be called onto shift or depart from the planet post-haste. Luckily, Spock bit the bullet on this shore leave and all but insisted that Kirk take some personal time to himself. Everyone on Alpha Shift knew that Kirk was getting antsy and an antsy Captain meant risky mistakes and maneuvers in the future for the entire ship. And honestly, who is Kirk to argue when his entire crew tells him to take a vacation? 

     Bokoriki IV was abundant with beaches, clubs and parties and it was exactly the atmosphere that Kirk was itching for. After seeing the crew off and assigning meeting times and dates for post-shore leave, Kirk found his hotel room. 

     Kirk knew exactly what he was going to do on his shore leave. He had been planning it in his head ever since he got the notification from Federation that they were granting the vacation. This planet was known for their underground club scene and Kirk wasn’t going to miss a single moment of it. Within minutes, Kirk has already shed his uniform and changed into more club-worthy attire. He’s not overly worried about being uncovered either- Kirk denied any security detail and purposefully booked a hotel practically on the other side of the planet from the other crew members. 

     So when Kirk found himself in form fitting leather pants and black dress shoes, shirtless with sunglasses in one of Bokoriki’s most notorious underground clubs, it really isn’t all that surprising to him. He is no longer Captain James Tiberius Kirk of the USS Enterprise. He’s just Jim and he’s loving it. 

* * *

 

     Kirk is living in the moment and loving it. He is currently sandwiched between two dancing men, an Andorian and a humanoid Bokoriki native. The music is ear-shatteringly loud and he can barely even hear the two men biblically close to him speaking between themselves, although their body language is particularly telling. Jim has about four drinks burning their way through his system, three of which he isn’t even going to make an effort at pronouncing, and the room is a little hazier than it was when he first entered. 

     Jim is well past working his way towards a comfortable buzz by the time the Bokoriki native, whose name he thinks is something like Mavayan but with a few more guttural clicks, pulls him aside with a small tub of bright body paint in his hands. Jim leans a little closer and allows the native to brush his paint-covered fingertips over his bare torso and face. The sensual touch makes Jim close his eyes, focusing on the light pressure against his temples, his abdomen, trailing down his arms. By the time Jim opens his eyes, he’s covered in swirls and dots and intricate designs out of fluorescent, glowing green and blue paint. It practically dances across his skin in the black light. 

     He is pulled back onto the dance floor by the Andorian, who is now also adorned with similar colors of body paint. The music seems to pick up louder in volume and bass and Jim decides to fall into the mood, dancing to the beat with no nagging, extraneous thoughts. There’s a mix of sweat and body paint and, finally, Jim’s reckless, antsy streak is being satisfied with every thrum of the exotic music. 

     Jim is so lost in the music that he almost doesn’t notice the familiar feeling of de-materialization, the feeling of being pulled up and up and up by the transporter. By the time he opens his eyes again, Jim is standing on the bridge with the Alpha shift crew staring at him in disbelief. 

     “Captain,” Chekov responds happily, “We found you!” 

     Kirk wants to be anywhere but here at this exact moment. Now, notorious playboy James T. Kirk has certainly been found in compromising positions before but this might be the most compromising thus far. He can practically feel the glares of Bones and Spock burrowing into his side. 

     “Why did you beam me up to the bridge?!” Jim yells indignantly. “I’m on leave!” 

     “Captain,” Spock interrupts, “We have an incoming transmission from Admiral Stevenson, encrypted as to only open under your command and you were not answering your communicator. The transmission is also marked as extremely urgent. Ensign Chekov was skilled enough to pinpoint your exact coordinates. Imagine our surprise when we realized that the reason you had abandoned your communicator in your hotel room was because you were entertaining yourself in a… nightclub, I believe is the appropriate term. We deemed it wise to beam you directly to the bridge rather than waste time searching for you in a such a crowded establishment. As you know, Captain, it is also starfleet protocol to beam aboard any essential personnel in the event of an urgent transmission.” 

     Kirk’s jaw is still dropped to the floor and he is fully aware that his crew are taking in the lingering sweat, the clinging leather, and the fluorescent body paint. He’s also fully aware that his cheeks are bright red and he’s inwardly dying of embarrassment. 

     “Sir, Admiral Stevenson is on the main viewer,” Uhura announces smugly and Kirk dies even more inside. 

     “Lieutenant Uhura, do NOT-” Kirk tries to yell but is interrupted by Admiral Stevenson. 

     “Well Kirk, while you are notorious for having a flair for the dramatic, I certainly would never have pinned your flair as being this dramatic,” Stevenson remarks and Kirk is already trying to eloquently word his resignation letter. Due to his current position of glaring at the smug Uhura, he can’t view Stevenson’s facial expression but he can only guess the shock present on the wizened face. 

     “Admiral Stevenson,” Kirk addresses as he turns around slowly and takes off his sunglasses. “I apologized for my current attire. I was on a delegated shore leave and my crew members figured they would beam me directly onto the bridge,  _ without warning,  _ to answer your most urgent transmission.” 

     “Kirk, most people use their shore leave to shop or catch some sun,” Admiral Stevenson remarks smugly. 

     “In all honesty, Admiral, we are all well aware that I am not  _ most  _ people. What is the nature of this most urgent transmission? How can I be of service to Starfleet?” Kirk responds, trying his best to mentally run around in circles and muster up some scraps of professionalism. 

     “It’s actually a mission for you to consider accepting after shore leave, but upon second thought, perhaps we could have Commander Spock read in on the details,” The admiral remarks as he eyes Kirk up and down with humor and shock. “Starfleet is kind of a no shirt, no service sort of organization.” 

     “Yes sir,” Kirk grumbles embarrassedly. “Spock, you… err… have the con,” Kirk remarks as he turns around and eyes the Vulcan. Spock, even though he claims to not have emotions, is eyeing him with one eyebrow up and his expression practically shouts amusement. Kirk is torn between being embarrassed and outright angry at the Admiral for marking a not-so urgent transmission as a highly urgent one. It could have waited. It should have waited. 

     “Captain, would you like us to beam you back down?” Sulu offers helpfully. 

     “That will not be needed, Sulu. I will make the walk of shame back to my quarters,” Kirk hangs his head. “Uh, I expect you all the read me in on the mission after shore-leave. Carry on.” 

     As Kirk passes by Bones on the way out, who is standing at the doors to the turbolift with his arms crossed and a humorous look on his face, the doctor remarks, “There’s a bottle of scotch in the second drawer of my filing cabinet. You need it more than I do, kid,” Bones remarks. 

     “Thanks, Bones,” Kirk mumbles as he rushes to close the doors on the turbolift and terminate the embarrassment. 

     Kirk shuffles back to his room, trying as hard as he can to mentally scrub his mind of the last five minutes. The bottle of Scotch is sounding more and more enticing with every footfall. Kirk throws caution to the wind and walks to the transport room, having the Ensign on duty beam him back down to the bar of the club where he promptly downs four more shots, one after another, and goes off in search of his Andorian dance partner. If he thinks he starts to see more and more of his crew members turn up in the clubs with cameras after that, he simply blames it on the alcohol. 


	2. The Second Incident: Communal Showers and Contamination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk has a diplomatic meeting on a nudist planet where biological weapons have him stripping out of his clothing.

     Kirk’s had another hell of a week. 

     Approximately six days ago, he received a transmission from Command telling him to travel to Federation planet Lunaris VII post-haste. Admiral Stevenson (Kirk now has this impending sense of dread in his stomach whenever he sees the name flash across his PADD), asked that Kirk, and Kirk alone, beam down to the planet to help smooth out a treaty delegation meeting between the planet’s two factions. When asked why he couldn’t bring his crew, Stevenson mentioned that the rest of the crew would be busy readying the ship for Federation inspection and ensuring all illegal contraband was eliminated, every surface was scrubbed, all systems were functioning properly and that there was not a single trace of leather or body paint to be found. 

     In all fairness, Kirk should have expected this. Every since he “inappropriately” answered the Admiral’s last transmission, he’s been cowering in anticipation of the formal reprimand from Command and the subtle punishment from Stevenson. Here it is. He’s got to go deal with boring and monotonous treaty delegations while his shipmates are forced to clean the ship and ready her for someone from Command to check her interior. Yeah, he danced his way into a hole on this one.  

     The ship arrived at Lunaris VII five days ago and maintained orbit above its surface. Kirk delegated tasks to her crew in order to ensure that the Enterprise passed its inspection. He donned his dress uniform and allowed himself to be transported down to the planet with a final “Be safe, Captain” from Spock. 

     And from there, everything basically went straight to hell. The second he was beamed down to the planet, he was surrounded by a whole horde of, who he was guessing were delegates, staring at him in anticipation. They had wide eyes and… well, naked bodies. On second thought, perhaps Kirk should have read the de-briefing files a little better. He seemed to miss the subtextual part about this planet’s inhabitants having a strong aversion to clothing. While they were humanoid and the anatomy was familiar, Kirk immediately averted his eyes and formulated a plan of action. They were fighting because one side was developing biological weapons to use against its enemies and the other side, whose religious practices forbade them from interfering in the natural progression of life, simply prohibited them from agreeing to genetically modify bacteria and viruses to wipe out substantial portions of any particular population. 

     The entire time he was in delegation, Kirk kept telling himself  _ “At least you’re not up there cleaning, Jim. You get to spend some time with naked females, Jim. Is it protocol for me to not wear clothing either?”  _ He scratched that last one from his imagination. He stayed in his dress uniform the entire time. 

     The planet, while having warp capabilities and advanced technology, believed strongly in connecting back to nature and, as such, all the natives slept outside on mats. They dealt with the bugs, the weather and the conditions with little or no complaint. And, as Kirk was part of the delegation meeting, he was expected to respect the planet’s culture and, for the next few days, he found the sky to be his ceiling, the grass to be his bed and his back to be entirely uncooperative with the whole situation. He stumbled and waddled to delegation after delegation meeting surrounded by naked people, hippie idealists and people insisting that he take off his clothes because he was making them uncomfortable. 

     The icing on the cake came about thirty minutes ago. A tentative treaty was on the table between the two factions. Research could be continued on biological weapons so long as they were used defensively and not offensively. The researches also needed to be aware of the bacterial and viral life they were modifying and respect their test subjects, the life of bacteria and viruses they were sacrificing and also culture extra colonies and divisions of bacteria/viruses that were not to be killed so as to maintain balance in the universe. Kirk had to force himself to not gag as the particulars were worked out. Back at Earth, people did everything they could to eradicate bacteria and viruses. To him, they weren’t worth saving. However, sensitivity classes taught him to keep his mouth shut, his ideas to himself and keep his mind open, even if just slightly. While the treaty was being negotiated, a rogue band of biological researches announced that they wanted nothing to do with the outlined agreements and opened up a sealed canister into the room of delegates. The cannister, ominous looking to begin with, was stamped with a bright orange biohazard symbol across its body. 

     The second the powder hit the air and was inhaled deeply into his lungs, Kirk was being shuffled off to a containment pod on the other end of the delegation hall. Two Lunaris natives were shoved into the same pod. 

     “You need to remove your clothing,” one of the natives indicated as he entered commands into the panel on the wall of the pod. 

     “What?” Kirk shouted back indignation 

     “Your clothes need to be removed. They are contaminated.” With a push of a button, a spray of some green liquid was falling onto Jim and the nude natives and it began soaking into his skin and clothing. 

     “What is it with this planet and trying to get me naked,” Kirk grumbled and began pulling off his dress uniform, piece by piece. The two natives were already rinsing themselves off in the dark green liquid, splashing it in their faces, gurgling with it and running their hands together underneath it. “Is this contagious?” Jim asked hesitantly. 

     “No. This modified strand is not. They would not release a contagious strand into a hall for fear of contaminating the entire planet. But, if what we’re guessing was in the cannister is right, it is deadly. We’ve already sent for a medical team to be dispatched here. Get under the water,” One of the natives answered. 

     Kirk grumbled again and shoved his head into the green liquid. He was still making half-hearted attempts at disrobing. There was no way James T. Kirk was going to die on this nudist planets in the middle of a boring delegation mission. He’s made it through way too much die on a planet like this. He tried pushing his communicator, requesting that Bones beam him up and take a look at him (as his CMO was the only one he really trusted in these kinds of affairs) but found that the green spray had seeped into it and rendered his communicator useless. Kirk groaned and continued to run his fingers through his hair under the spray. 

     By the time Kirk was fully naked, he had remembered the watch and wristband still on his person and pressed a small red button on the inside. If all else fails, Jim curses to himself, remember the panic button. He decided in that moment that he would rather be safe than sorry and continued to wash himself under the green spray. 

     “What were we just infected with?” Jim asked the natives but, before he could get an answer, he was feeling the familiar sensation of dematerialization again. Jim cursed himself. Not the bodypaint incident again. _ Please don’t let Stevenson be on board. Please don’t let Stevenson be on board. _  Jim grabbed for his pants and held them in front of him to cover some of his more sensitive bits. 

     The first thing he heard upon being beamed on-board was Bones. 

     “Dear God Jim, you can’t go hitting the distress signal when you’re busy having weird kinky sex or something. First the body paint, now this…” Bones reprimands and Kirk curses his luck. This was supposed to be a boring weekend with boring delegates and boring missions and certainly not biological weapons and possible death. 

     “Captain, your attire is once again, inappropriate. I don’t know whether we should chastise you for your impropriety or commend the transporter crew for their great talent at beaming aboard their captain in compromising situations.” 

     The second Kirk heard the voice, he wanted the virus in his body to kick into overdrive and kill him faster. Admiral Stevenson was on his ship. Admiral Stevenson was the one doing the ship inspection. He was currently naked, covered in green liquid in front of Admiral Stevenson. 

     “I wasn’t having kinky sex, I was busy inhaling a genetically modified  _ deadly  _ virus and being rushed into a decontamination shower. I apologize for my current state of undress, Admiral, but if you would please save the reprimand for after I’m not dying, or upon my death, your mercy would be greatly appreciated.” Kirk finished with a sarcastic smile and turned to Bones who was already running a tricorder over him and pulling him, by the shoulder to medbay. 

     “Goddamnit Jim, can’t you go on one single mission without almost dying,” Bones starts cursing. 

     “Captain, do you know what the virus was or how it was modified?” He hears Spock asking him from behind. Jim tries to wrap his pants behind him a little to spare Spock from a full on view of his, albeit glorious and well toned, behind. 

     “Nope,” Kirk admits. “You guys beamed me aboard before I could get an answer. Seriously, do you guys secretly have a pool going on how many articles of clothing I’ll have on when I beam back aboard?  Props to whoever guessed zero.” 

     “Captain, I do believe that there is an issue here more important than your current state of undress,” Spock cuts in. 

     “Oh right, I’m dying,” Kirk deadpans. “Bones, save me. It’s your job.” 

     “Good god, man. They don’t pay me enough,” Bones mutters under his breath. “You’ve been on that planet overseeing diplomatic talks on biologic weapons for days and you never once overheard what they were developing?” 

     “It was a nudist planet, Bones,” Kirk sheepishly shrugs. 

     “I never thought that your womanizing-,” Bones starts but Kirk cuts them off 

     “And menizing…,” He pauses trying to think of the right word “manizing? Regardless I’m an all inclusive lover, Bones.” Bones just rolls his eyes and pushes him down onto the biobed. 

     “I never thought that your all inclusive loving would actually get you killed but, hey, color me surprised, kid,” Bones remarks and Kirk feels a needle against his neck before he has a chance to protest. 

     “Spock, can you fetch me some clean, non-green goop covered pants?” Kirk asks shamelessly. 

     “Perhaps your current state of undress will aid the doctor while he’s examining you for -” Kirk interjects again. 

     “PANTS, SPOCK,” Jim orders. 

     Spock disappears from the medbay. 

     “You should really take Admiral Stevenson out for dinner after I get you patched up,” Bones comments nonchalantly while he’s over in the corner examining a specimen of Jim’s blood under a microscope. 

     “What, why?” Jim asks, extremely confused. 

     “Because he’s already seen you naked and you haven’t even taken the man out on a date. You don’t want to seem easy,” Bones laughs. 

     Jim doesn’t know if it’s a side effect of the contamination or just a reaction to thought of going out on a date with Admiral Stevenson, but he suddenly feels very queasy. 

     “How are you feeling, Captain?” Spock asks as he emerges with a clean pair of regulation pants, taking note of the Captain’s markedly paler face. 

     “I’m feeling like I’m going to have to have a talk with the transporter crew about implementing a new protocol where they have to inquire about my attire before beaming me up.” 

     “That would ruin the pool,” Bones remarks. “Besides, Scotty now owes me a bottle of Romulan ale.” At Spock’s judgmental glare towards the illegal alcohol, he adds “What? I only use it for medicinal purposes.” 

     Jim sags into the biobed and clenches his eyes shut. He’s never taking his clothes off ever again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise not all the chapters will be Kirk in varying states of undress (as much as I enjoy it).   
> There will be some future Kirk/Spock chapters and some Bones & Kirk chapters as well.   
> Basically, I'm going to have a ton of fun embarrassing the hell out of our favorite Captain.


	3. Yoga Pants, Downward Dog and Vulcan Meditation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim has many methods of controlling his stress levels, some more embarrassing than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for this chapter came from my buddy, heartofthemirror. She also helped me figure out how a Vulcan would say "Damn Jim, those pants are tight as hell." I can't thank her enough. 
> 
> As someone who does not practice yoga and knows very little about it (I did do a fair bit of research and asking around), I hope this chapter is at least semi-accurate. I did my best to stay out of what I did not know and to write what I did.

     The first time that Jim Kirk engaged in the practice of yoga, he was not setting off on some holy, divine quest for inner peace and sanctimonious harmony. He wasn’t looking for enhanced control over his mind or his body. He certainly was not practicing yoga in an attempt to cultivate some deeper spiritual understanding within himself. He was looking to get into a woman’s pants. 

     Before being launched into space for his five-year mission and well before the Kobayashi Maru, Jim had met a lovely, young, female humanoid named Zariah at the Academy. Among other passionate pursuits, Zariah was particularly fascinated with the older human practice of yoga and meditation techniques. With a reputation for being highly flexible and an exceptional contortionist, Jim was quite literally willing to bend over backwards to impress her. Disguising himself as the ever-eager pupil, Jim had asked if she would be willing to teach him her passion of yoga in order to get closer to her and to get a first-hand glimpse at her poses that the men at Starfleet Academy were practically drooling over. Jim figured that it was a win-win situation either way. He’d either get a night he would never forget or he’d learn some handy new moves and a newfound flexibility to apply to future romantic endeavors. Yoga was hardly practiced anymore in the star-systems, except by a few handful of scholars, like Zariah, launching themselves into a deeper quest for serenity by returning to the roots and basic philosophies of ancient religions and teachings. Because of this, Jim figured that if someone walked in on him practicing, at the very most they’d attribute it to him being his odd, eccentric self.

     While Jim jumped into that situation with his libido first, he would never have imagined that he’d pick up a useful skillset for the future applicable outside of the bedroom. Jim would never admit it to the public for fear of tarnishing his well-crafted reputation as a cocky Starship Captain who leads his crew without doubts or hesitation, but sometimes his thoughts become a jumbled, messy disarray of nervous, anxious restlessness and he has to practically pull his hair out to think rationally. In these moments, he finds himself thinking back to his days with Zariah at the Academy, the long yoga sessions and meditative sessions. Although he loathes to admit it, his mind was never as clear as it was back then, body contorted into weird shapes, feeling every muscle pull and stretch, counting his breaths, so acutely aware of his exact position in the universe that he felt infinitesimally small. It made all his mistakes, worries and anxious restlessness seem even smaller. 

     Jim’s been stressed out of his mind as of late. After he failed to prevent escalating tensions on Lunaris VII four months ago, which ultimately led to the release of biologic weapons, and the whole beamed up in “inappropriate attire” incident even before that, Federation command has demanded that he re-take some online courses on politics, diplomatic negotiations, professionalism and de-escalation strategies. In addition to the classes and attending to his duties as captain, and recovering from his near constant exhaustion as a result of his almost lethal poisoning, Jim is on a current mission on a Federation base. According to his mission de-briefing, he is supposed to be aiding in negotiations for a planet to send dilithium shipments at lower rates than traditional intergalactic trading routes to three distant Federation outposts. Currently, both sides are too bullheaded to waver and reach a reasonable compromise. He’s been at said negotiations for the past two months and Command is going to mark his mission a failure if he doesn’t help the two parties reach an agreement by the end of the week. He’s already in hot water for the past two incidents involving Admiral Stevenson and he doesn’t want to give Command more excuses to think he’s an inadequate captain for the Enterprise. He’s back to practically pulling his hair out. 

     Alone in his borrowed quarters on Cororia Base I, one of the distant federation outposts, with the Enterprise maintaining orbit around the planet, Jim finds himself reminiscing back to his times with Zariah. He yearns for the clarity he had back then. Figuring that there was no one present to judge him, Jim digs into his suitcase. He reaches to the very bottom, skims his fingers against the liner until they make contact with a single pair of pants. He pulls out the pants and stares at them in nostalgia, his fingers running over the breathable, stretchy fabric. Jim’s older now than he was in Academy and he doubts the pants fit as loosely as they once did but he can’t quite bring himself to throw them away. They were a gift from Zariah. She was so eager to show him her passions, to help him find clarity, that she rushed to the nearest store and bought him a mat and a pair of exercise pants. Whenever he slips them on, he’s back with Zariah, the cushy mat under his feet, free from the crushing weight of his problems.

     So Jim slips them on. He removes his shirt, his socks, strips down to nothing and pulls the black pants on. They are tighter than he remembers but still leave enough room where it counts. They hug his hips more than they used to but are still the perfect length. He tightens the drawstrings and takes a deep breath.

     “Computer, raise the temperature in the room to 100 degrees,” Jim orders. To him, meditation and exercise didn’t count unless he was sweating.

      He settles himself onto the floor near the foot of his bed. He crosses his legs underneath him and closes his eyes, straightening out his spine. He attempts to clear his thoughts, to focus on the feeling of his chest expanding and contracting, inhaling and exhaling. 

     Jim takes in all of the sounds around him. He focuses on the sound of the garden fountain running outside his window, the wind blowing through the newly terraformed trees, the hum and drone of insects and nocturnal creatures. He feels the soft texture of the carpet beneath him, the sweat starting to pool at the back of his neck, dripping down his back and his chest. He feels the pants fitting snuggly around his hips. He smells the fresh air being circulated into his room. He feels himself being tethered to the moment. 

     Jim, with eyes open and gaze set straight ahead, stretches his legs out to his side and feels his muscles tug and pull. He holds this pose for a minute or two. Slowly, he brings his legs back to his center and twists one leg over the other, feeling his back stretch. He repeats this process on the other side. When his back is adequately limber, he maneuvers himself onto his knees. He reaches back to grasp his ankles behind him, letting his head falls back. The sweat runs down his skin more now. After he feels that he has sufficiently stretched his back, he gets down on all fours. He stays like this for awhile, just breathing, staring at the carpet beneath his feet, letting thoughts come and go, ebb and flow away from his mind.  He arches his back upwards, stretching out like a cat would. He then mirrors the pose, dipping his back downward towards the floor and bringing his head up. After holding that pose, he lets himself fall back, sitting on his legs and stretching forward into a child’s pose. 

     He can feel the outside world fade away while being entirely attuned to everything happening around his current location. He becomes somewhat like a passive receptacle for the sensory experiences occurring around him. He is taking in everything around him and letting it flow out of him without processing, without higher thought. This pushes the nagging stress out of his body as the sweat leaves, the negativity running off him in trails. From here, he returns to a table-like pose, places his palms down on the mat in front of him, and walks his knees back until his spine is straightened out diagonally to the ground. He lets his shoulders relax and takes deep breaths. He looks up gently and slowly walks his knees forward and lifts his elbows and knees up one by one, keeping every part of his palm pressed against the carpet. When he presses his feet firmly to the ground, his hips and spine contouring to a near 90 degree angle, he settles into a downward dog pose. He exhales gently. 

     He starts to feel a tingling in his core but doesn’t let this phase him out of his meditation. He takes more deep breaths, attributing the feeling to finally reaching some semblance of a peaceful mindset. What Jim did not realize was that the tingling, vibrating sensation, the feeling that his stomach was aflutter with butterflies, wasn’t because of meditative bliss, it was because he was being transported from his quiet, serene room onto the noisy, people-filled bridge of the Enterprise. 

     The first view that everyone got was of their Captain, in tight-fitting compression pants, panting and covered in sweat, butt to the air and face to the ground, a big smile etched onto his face. For anyone that didn’t know yoga, and this pretty much included everyone currently on the starship, the pose could be grossly misconstrued. Hell, the only thing that would’ve made it more dirty looking, was if Kirk had neglected to wear pants again. As Kirk was too lost in his meditative state of mind, and as everybody was too shocked to make a sound, Kirk held this pose, unaware of his new surroundings. 

     “Well Jim, you’re sure lucky the Admiral ain’t here again. Unless of course, he was the one you were bending over for,” Bones snickers and Jim’s head pops up at the sound of his friend’s voice. Jim’s eyes widen as he quickly takes in his surroundings and crumbles to the ground. He takes in the sights and sounds of the bridge around him, his mind trying to process the change of setting. His senses come firing alive, returning in overdrive and he feels the beginnings of a headache ripping its way through his brain.  _ Ouch, talk about sensory overload,  _ Jim thinks. 

     “I’m sorry Captain,” Chekov is in the corner of the bridge apologizing. “I told them to check in on you before they beamed you aboard but you didn’t have your communicator and we needed you here so we figured that…,” The young ensign kept rambling on. 

     Jim is utterly shocked and can’t quite think of anything to say. He picks himself off the ground and shakes the dust off his pants. 

     “Captain, we have received a tip from our informants on the base that a rebel group from Xorianth was threatening to attack the safe-house you were, in order to capture key delegates and politicians in order to pressure Cororia into paying more money for dilithium shipments. We thought it best to beam you aboard with haste,” He hears Spock. Jim rubs at his eyes, still unable to process what is going on around him.  

     “We apologize if we interrupted your time with a special someone,” Uhura comments, her voice so full of teasing that Jim wants to cringe. 

     “What?” Jim asks, confused. He takes note of the past minute, of his attire, his current breathing and the sweat pooling at the small of his back and at the waistband of his pants. “Oh c’mon…” Jim groans. 

     “Captain, if you were about to engage in sexual relations with another individual, would it not be incorrect to logically presume that you hold some sentimental feelings for them? Should we beam them aboard as well as a precaution?” Spock asks. 

     “Yeah, Kirk, which gentleman should we beam aboard?” Bones says from the side, looking like he’s trying his hardest not to laugh. 

     “Don’t be judgmental now, Bonesy. Could have easily been a lass with certain equipment,” Scotty takes a jab at him with a wink. 

     “Or a Corarian. We haven’t thoroughly inquired about or documented their anatomy yet. Perhaps Kirk was taking one for the team and for science,” Uhura offers. 

     “I wasn’t about to have sex with anybody and I certainly  _ was not  _ bending over for anybody or anything. Do I need to remind you that I am the Captain?” Kirk replies indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling suddenly very under-dressed.

     “ _ Sure _ Captain,” Scotty replies with an incredibly amount of sarcasm. “Is that what you asked him to call you?” Scotty continues with the teasing. 

     Kirk can feel his skin start to turn to goose flesh, his arm hair standing on end at the sudden change of temperature. The bridge is much colder than his room was. He shivers unconsciously. “Can someone get me a shirt?” Kirk asks quietly.  

     “Computer, raise the temperature of the bridge by ten degrees.” Spock turns to the crew. “You heard the Captain, we will cease with crass talk relating to his arrival, posture and attire,” Spock orders and Jim hears the affirmative beeping from the bridge computer and his body starts to slowly warm up. He sees a crewman scurry off to presumably fetch him a shirt. 

     “What were you doing then?” Uhura accuses. 

     Kirk closes his eyes and groans. He supposes that it is better to be forthright about him meditating and doing yoga rather than have his crew assume that he was bending over for somebody, about to have sex. 

     “Yoga,” Kirk replies under his breath. 

     “What was that, kid?” Bones asks coarsely. 

     “I was doing yoga, Bones!” Kirk shouts, annoyed. He wants to retire to his room, back to the quiet, back to the warmth and sleep. Spock’s eyebrow shoots up in fascination. 

     “Who is Yoga?” Chekov asks curiously. 

     “Yoga is a practice, not an individual, Ensign. It was a type of ancient human physical and mental meditation, where practitioners sought mental and spiritual enlightenment and power over the body and mind. Yoga was used a broad term with many divisions and branches, with each division and discipline having their own unique alterations to the practice. At the peak of its popularity in the 21st century, it was commonly associated with varying types of body posturing and poses, combining its mental core with physical exercise. It fell out of practice but there are still some practitioners and a few smaller schools on Terra dedicated to the preservation of its practice. I was not aware that you were among their practitioners, Captain,” Spock remarks, one of his eyebrows still raised. If Spock used the word ‘fascinating’, Jim couldn’t promise that he would be able to restrain himself from punching the Vulcan in the nose. 

     “You,” Bones pauses, “ _ You  _ were  _ meditating?  _ Are you sure we beamed up the right Kirk?” Bones asks incredulously.

     Jim rubs his forehead and attempts to fight off the headache that is forming.

     “Do you need me on the bridge or can I retire to my quarters?” Jim asks irritably. The lights are too blinding, the sounds are too deafening and despite the temperature of the Bridge being raised, his entire body feels like it is turning to ice. His shivering is more pronounced now. His stress starts to return threefold. 

     “Lieutenant Scott, you have the conn. Work with security to ensure that the apprehension of the rebels goes smoothly and without problem,” Spock commands. Scotty looks stunned and Jim stands there in confusion. 

     For fear of being kept on the bridge any longer than necessary, Jim doesn’t ask questions. He accepts a shirt from an out-of-breath crewman. He notices his first officer following him into the hallway.  

     “What can I do for you, Spock?” Jim questions, now that they are alone. “I have a headache and I just wanna return to my quarters.” He pulls the shirt on and turns to face the Vulcan. 

     “I wish to offer my…” Spock pauses, “lamentations about interrupting your meditation regimen but your safety as our Captain was paramount.” 

     “That’s okay, Spock,” Jim attempts a half-hearted, lazy grin. “And it’s not really a regimen. It’s just something I do sometimes.” 

     “I was unaware that you were a practitioner of yoga or that you engaged in any meditative practices at all,” Spock comments. 

     “We don’t have to share everything about our private lives with each other,” Jim scratches at the back of his neck in an attempt to display his awkward feeling about having this conversation.

     “Yoga is a fading practice. Partially because it is inferior to other meditation practices at leading one to enlightenment, sharpened perception and control of emotions. Compared to Vulcan meditation practices, yoga is unbalanced and only focuses on one aspect of mindfulness. It will logically be of little help in leading you to spiritual balance,” Spock comments. Jim groans. 

     “And that is why we don’t share everything with each other,” Jim turns away. “Of course you’d be very arrogant and opinionated on my meditative practices, you Vulcan elitist.” Jim replies jokingly. He rolls his eyes. 

     Jim attempts to move away from the hallway and this conversation but his attempt is foiled.

     “Captain,” Spock calls. “Jim,” He amends quickly. “I did not mean my statement as an unjust criticism on your meditative practices. I was merely stating supported fact. There are very few species that seek out deeper spiritual understanding through meditation. It was meant as a statement portraying my fascination that you engage in such an act at all.” 

     “Your fascination and opinion on my ‘inferior’ practice is noted, Spock,” Jim grumbles. 

     “I understand that you are likely suffering some negative emotional consequences as a repercussion for an interrupted meditative session.” 

     Jim’s stress subsides to amusement. 

     “Is that the Vulcan way of saying I’m being bitchy?” Jim grins. 

     Spock stood silent and still for a minute, as if reflecting deeply upon his next statement. 

     “As our Captain, it is in the best interests of all the crew aboard this starship if you are in top emotional and spiritual shape. It would facilitate better decision-making and better command. I do not remark upon the inferiority of your practice to offend. I intended it to perceived as a recommendation for you to explore other methods of more effective meditation,” Spock finishes. 

     Jim groans again and grips his head. This was not a conversation he ever intended to have with his First Officer. “So what are you suggesting? That I drop yoga and pursue Vulcan meditation practices?” 

     “Vulcans are not very open about sharing about our customs and practices, so Vulcan meditation practices are still entirely unavailable and unknown to other species,”Spock comments. 

     “Oh that’s great,” Jim remarks. “Jim, your method sucks and mine is better but you can’t know what mine is,” Jim impersonates his first officer. “I’m going to bed, Spock. I’ll stop doing yoga until I’m no longer at risk of being beamed aboard the Enterprise suddenly, if it irks you that much. In fact, I’ll just stop doing yoga all together if it’s that ineffective. Who needs meditation?” Jim scowls. 

     “Jim,” Spock replies sternly. Jim crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow, anticipating that Spock’s next statement will be a more eloquently worded version of his impersonation. “If you wish to learn more about Vulcan meditation, I have the time and knowledge to mentor you. You should not cease your meditation efforts if they keep you in sound mind.” 

     “You want to teach me your meditation technique?” Jim asks incredulously. 

     “That was my last statement, yes.” Spock responds. “Provided that you keep what I teach you between me and you, unless permissions are otherwise granted.” 

     “I don’t kiss and tell, Spock,” Jim grins. 

     “Vulcan meditation does not involve kissing,” Spock raises an eyebrow in confusion. “Or odd poses and form-fitting garments that may be causing undue restriction and adversely affecting your circulation,” He adds as he stares down at Jim’s pants.

     “It was an expression. I won’t tell anybody about your super-secret Vulcan practices, Spock. 

     On any other day, Jim would probably refuse the offer and skirt off by saying that he only learned yoga to impress chicks. Today, however, he is beaten and exhausted emotionally. He can’t help but to admit to himself that yoga has helped him manage his emotions better and has definitely led him to reign in his stress levels. If Spock is willing to teach him his meditation techniques, and stands by their effectiveness, perhaps it could help stop Jim from wanting to pull his hair out every other day.

     “When do we start?” Jim asks eagerly

     “As I have handed off my command duties to Lieutenant Scott and am now otherwise unoccupied, we could start now to make up for your meditation session that was interrupted,” Spock offers. 

     Jim looks down. “Can I wear the pants?” 

     “Yes, Jim. Your current attire is adequate.” Jim grinned and followed Spock down the hallway.

     The first time that Jim Kirk engaged in the practice of Vulcan meditation, it was in pursuit of some inner peace and harmony. He was looking for enhanced control over his mind and his body. He was practicing these skills in an attempt to cultivate some deeper spiritual understanding within himself. It was just a completely unrelated coincidence that he also wanted to get into his first officer’s pants. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim in yoga pants doing downward dog in front of the crew. Feel free to draw it.   
> Kudos and comments are appreciated and encourage me to keep up with this story :)   
> I hope you guys are enjoying it so far and I can't thank you enough for the kind words I've already received.   
> You guys are amazing.   
> If you have suggestions/ideas/prompts for future chapters, send them my way.


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